


Harry Potter and the Superstitious Potions Master

by Hel_Bee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Humor, M/M, Parody, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-01
Updated: 2006-06-01
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hel_Bee/pseuds/Hel_Bee
Summary: With their wedding approaching Harry is perplexed - Severus has become so superstitious!Writen for the Snarry Olympics - eam Romance





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: Harry Potter and the Superstitious Potions Master  
Author: Hel Bee  
Team: Romance  
Prompt: 13 - Superstition  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: HP/SS  
Disclaimer: JKR owns the lot apart from the traditional rhymes.  
Summary: With their wedding approaching Harry is perplexed - Severus has become so superstitious!  
Beta: Jadzia7667 and Rakina. And thanks to ziasudra_fic for the sanity check.

 

My fiancé is going insane. I truly believe that before we get to the wedding ceremony Severus Snape will have been whisked off to his own little padded room at St. Mungo’s. 

His descent into dementia started benignly enough with a simple remark about horseshoes representing fertility and the crescent moon in ancient Greece. Being the kind of man he is, he had to delve further. He was flipping through a book my adopted mother, Molly Weasley, had given me when he came across several references about the forgotten traditions of Wizarding weddings. And that bloody book is the reason why I am currently trying to find a Wizarding chimney sweep to attend the wedding. Severus Snape, you will be the death of me!

It wouldn’t be so bad if this was the only thing, but I’m not even halfway down his long list of very important traditions that simply must be adhered to. Quite what’s got into him, I have no idea. My fiancé is normally a stubborn, moody git. He should not be worrying about the number of sugared almonds in a favours bag.

Whenever we discuss the wedding he refers to that book. Be it dates, flowers or catering the book always has the final word. He even sleeps with the bloody thing under his pillow; anyone would think he was marrying it rather than me. I haven’t seen him this attached to anything not directly related to a potion before. Apart from me, of course, but then most potions don’t participate in mutual fellatio. 

Diagon Alley is heaving, but I am en route to meet Otto Von Burgblaster, seventh generation chimney sweep and attendee to the weddings of the stars. I spot Meriwether and Vane’s, the Wizarding meteorologists – which reminds me that I must pop in there on my way home to order the weather for the wedding. I hurry past and duck down a side street into Haveityourown Way where Burgblaster’s premises are sited. It is a pretty little mews and he has a third floor office halfway down the road.

I ring the bell next to the shiny plaque that bears his name and he answers: “Yes?”

“I have an appointment. I’m Mr Potter.”

The door swings open and I am greeted by a short, stout gentleman of indeterminable age. “A pleasure, Mr Potter. Otto von Burgblaster, at your service,” he greets me, surprisingly considering his name, in a south London accent.

He’s not what I had expected. There wouldn’t be many chimney breasts Otto could negotiate – not without someone on hand to help him in case he gets stuck.

He leads me to his office. A nicely appointed, neutrally decorated room. The only hints of his occupation are the brushes that lean against the wall in the corner. They look suspiciously clean. The walls are covered with Wizarding photographs. Each photo shows Otto at a wedding, usually with a famous witch or wizard waving or moving about in the frame. Bloody hell - there’s one of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy!

I decline his offer of a drink. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. “To be honest, Mr Burgblaster, I am here at my husband-to-be’s request. He has become rather – er – superstitious during the run up to our wedding and has insisted on a sweep to be present to…” I fumble over the words “… kiss the bride, so to speak.”

“And which of you will be the bride?” he asks with a grin and a wink.

“Since Severus wants a sweep, he is,” I say quickly.

Otto laughs. “Don’t worry; I won’t get too much dirt on your fella.”

My eyes drift back to the brushes. “I have to admit, you don’t look like you’ve done much sweeping recently.”

“Don’t have much time to, really. Always at bloody weddings!”

 

I’m knackered. Bugger this for a game of soldiers. The weather can wait, I’m going home. I’ve managed to provisionally book Otto but since Sev won’t settle on a date - he’s narrowed it down to three possibilities - I’ll have to get back to Otto to confirm. I Apparate into the kitchen of the house we share. From the creak of the floorboards Sev is pottering around upstairs. There’s a large thud and the slam of a door. Hmmm, what is he up to?

I make my way upstairs and stop outside the door to our bedroom. Sev is issuing forth a long list of expletives, most of which aren’t even in English, but they all boil down to the same thing: he ain’t happy.

Tentatively, because I have been hit by a stray curse more times than I can count when Sev’s been in a particularly obnoxious mood, I push the door open. 

Severus is standing stark bollock-naked in the middle of the room. He is surrounded by piles of clothes, mainly mine I think, as not one of them is black. The only thing he is wearing is a scowl that could curdle milk. “Oh, you’re back,” he says, tearing his eyes away from that sodding book which is lying open on the bed.

“Missed you too,” I answer sarcastically. “What are you doing now?”

His withering look is meant to be condescending but it doesn’t quite have the impact since he’s got no clothes on. “I would have thought it obvious, even to someone of your limited intellect.”

“Stop being such an insufferable prat and _explain_ why half the contents of my wardrobe are on the floor.”

“Oh, why have I been cursed to indulge in matrimonial activities with a Gryffindor, and Marauder spawn at that?” He sighs in a put-upon manner. “I am trying to ascertain the correct colours for the wedding.”

“Why? We decided that we were going for dress robes in house colours after you said – and I quote – ‘I can’t be dealing with all this over-hyped wedding rubbish. For fuck’s sake let’s at least keep the robes simple’.”

I thought he would have had the decency to at least look sheepish but now he looks more indignant than ever. “Would you doom our future lives together by not adhering to the tradition?”

“Oh no, Sev, this isn’t more of your superstitious claptrap? What’s got into you lately?” I demand. I’m fast approaching the end of my patience.

He picks up his wand and waves it over the book creating a copy of the page he is reading. “This, you ill-educated dunderhead!”

That is another thing; he never lets me read the book, just makes copies from it and shoves them under my nose. I grab the sheet of paper to see what has upset him so much this time:

_Married in white, you have chosen alright._  
Married in green, ashamed to be seen.  
Married in red, you will wish yourself dead.  
Married in blue, you will always be true  
Married in yellow, ashamed of your fellow.  
Married in black, you will wish yourself back.  
Married in pink, of you he'll think. 

 

I crumple the paper into a ball and throw it into the corner of the room. “It’s just a stupid rhyme, Sev. It might just as well have said ‘get married in blue you’ll end up living in Crewe’ or ‘get married in pink and the bridegroom will stink’!”

Severus put his hands on his hips. “Maybe I should get married in green if this is your attitude, or perhaps yellow.”

I throw my hands up into the air in desperation. “Do you even listen to some of the things you are saying? What on Earth has gotten into you lately? This is going to stop or I will put you in a full body-bind until the day of the wedding – if you ever make up your mind about when it will be.”

“I’d like to see you try…” he sneers at me.

“Fine!” With a wave of wordless, wandless magic I do just that and watch him fall helplessly to the floor. I’ve had enough of this for now and I charge out of the room, releasing the spell as I leave. “I’m going to Ron’s,” I call back, and Apparate before he gets the chance to retaliate.

*

I am tiptoeing through the house, trying to be a sneaky little Harry mouse. It is possible that I had one too many Witch’s Brews at the Crossed Arms pub. It’s Ron’s fault, he’s a bad friend; he’ll get me into trouble with Sev. My knee connects sharply with a side table. I bite my tongue and manage not to blurt out the curse I have in mind. I freeze on the spot and listen for any movement. I think I’ve got away with it.

Okay, so I’m drunk but I’m also horny. Wonder if my lovely fiancé has untangled the knot in his knickers from earlier? I know the perfect way to release his tension.

Creeping into our bedroom, I notice my beloved is still asleep. I strip quickly and slide up against him. Oh yes, the friction as I slide up against him is amazing. I reach around and gently caress his torso, stroking the soft, downy hair that covers his chest. Teasing him with my fingertips, I explore further, moving lower into the nest of curls and along his long, nicely swelling shaft.

A hand around my wrist stops my adventure. “No,” he hisses and pushes me away.

I flail backwards, and fall over the edge of the bed. With foggy vision I can see him peering down at me in the dim light. “Not until the wedding night, Potter.”

“What?” I exclaim in horror.

“You heard!” 

He is reaching for the nightstand. He’s got his wand. Oh fuck! The bastard’s levitating me. My legs and arms thrash randomly, trying to fight his magic as he lifts me into the air and throws me out of our bedroom. 

I sit on the floor of the landing, bewildered. With a wave of drunken dizziness I slump backwards and know no more.

 

I wouldn’t call it waking up, it is more coming round. The room seems cruelly over bright and I crack open an eye. I’m in the spare room. Well, I guess he still loves me enough to put me to bed. With more effort than it should’ve taken, I get out of bed and pull on a dressing gown we usually reserve for guests. My head hurts. Maybe I can get Sev to kiss it better.

On shuffling feet I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. Sev is sitting at the table, a cup of black tea in one hand and another one of those ominous bits of paper in the other.

“Which would you prefer: to suffer losses or crosses?”

“Eh?” Not even so much as a ‘good morning, Harry’ or ‘what were you up to last night, you horny, little snot?’.

“Or would you prefer healthy?”

My head is no mood for his riddles. “Sev, you seem to be speaking in tongues.”

He sighs overly dramatically and gives me the parchment. Oh bollocks! More of his weird wedding shit:

_Monday: Brides will be Healthy._  
Tuesday: Brides will be Wealthy.  
Wednesday: Brides do best of all.  
Thursday: Brides will suffer losses.  
Friday: Brides will suffer crosses.  
Saturday: Brides will have no luck at all. 

 

“Sev, I don’t mind. Whatever you think is best is fine by me.” I slump into a chair. “Got any Hair-of-the-Dog brewed?”

He raises an eyebrow and snorts softly. Taking pity on me, he collects a vial of the wonderful red liquid and pours it into a glass. I wait patiently as he retrieves the final ingredient, one that must be added fresh. He taps the egg against the rim of the glass and releases the yolk and white. He stirs it three times, counter-clockwise, and hands it to me. The concoction slides down my throat and almost immediately I start to feel better.

Now that I’m thinking straight, I’m worried. He doesn’t usually hand over that potion quite so easily, certainly not without a large helping of sarcasm. “What’s going on?”

He smiles. That’s not a good sign. “Harry, I’ve been thinking. While researching our upcoming nuptials, there has been one tradition that appears time and time again. One that will almost guarantee a perfect Wizarding married life.”

I really don’t like where this is going. “Sev…”

“I have considered our options carefully. And the best plan is for you to take Polyjuice on our wedding night; we’ll turn you into a woman and I can take your virginity.”

“What the fuck are you on about? Have you been mixing solvents again?”

Sev seems genuinely taken aback. “Harry, a Wizarding bride should be a virgin.”

This has gone too far. I have put up with chimney sweeps, tantrums over confetti and flowers, and agonizing over robe colours. It ends now. Our sex life is fantastic, and I’m not having any archaic book tell my fiancé any different. Besides, his plan wouldn’t work - how the hell did The Order think I got the information I did out of the impossibly straight Draco Malfoy?

“And where did you get that particularly insightful fact from, Severus?”

“The book of course,” he answers, looking concerned. “I… Harry?” 

Right, book, this means war! I push away from the table and break into a run; my dressing gown flaps open but I’m going to get to that book. Sev has realised what I’m doing and is in fast pursuit. In hindsight I should have Accio’d it, but I wasn’t thinking. I dive into our bedroom and straight onto the bed. I scrabble under the pillow and there it is. I snatch up the leather-bound demon. Severus tries to tackle me, grabbing at the book as if I am trying to steal his firstborn. We wrestle, each of us trying to yank the book out of the other's hands.

With a mix of brute strength and a silently cast repelling charm I seize the book and send Sev stumbling backwards. “Don’t make me bind you,” I warn. “I won’t use your favourite green ribbons like I normally do.”

Sev is sitting on the floor leaning back on his hands and looking up at me. He’s scowling, there are deep furrows in his brow and his top lip is curled into a sneer – I’m almost relieved to see his normal, sunny disposition. Full of indignation, he is downright sexy, his hair falling over his sallow face. In irritation he moves it out of the way with a potion-stained hand. If I didn’t have to get to the bottom of this book I’d be getting to the bottom of Sev.

I turn the book over in my hands. On the surface it appears to be nothing more than a collection of Wizarding traditions; however, there is something not quite right about Igor Boyles’ _‘If It’s Worth Doing, Then Do It Right’_. Flicking through the pages, I sense nothing out of the ordinary until the pages fall open at the section on weddings. I feel the merest whisper of power, something I’ve experienced from magical books before, but this time I think recognise the signatures behind the magic. In golden, swirling script two names appear on cover of the book: Weasley, F; Weasley, G. For a second my skin tingles, but then the power dissipates.

I see a spider web of magical energy creep across the cover of the book, a golden pattern criss-crossing in and out of the pages. Now that I can see it, I know exactly what has happened. This is Weasley magic, a spell to protect the family, to affect only outsiders. I have been warded into the Burrow; as far as the house and its contents are concerned I am a Weasley. Sev obviously isn’t.

I close my eyes and concentrate for a second, feeling the nature of the spell. It isn’t a recent casting, so at least I don’t have to kill the twins for a deliberate act of malice against Sev. Still, they should have warned him. The magic is a cleverly hidden compulsion charm linked to the wedding tradition section. This must the reason for Sev’s strange behaviour. Somehow the charm has caused him to be extremely superstitious, making him want to follow the concepts described in the book to the letter. 

“Fuckers!” I snarl.

Sev looks at me quizzically. “Harry?”

I grip the book tightly and send an inferno curse into it. The pages crackle and the residual magic spits and pops as it burns. I feel no pain from the magical fire as it licks at the book, destroying the cause of Sev’s insanity. It implodes, disappearing in a cloud of red smoke.

Sev looks disoriented and confused. I kneel beside him. “All right there, Sev?”

“Care to tell me exactly what has been going on?” he growls.

“First of all, what are your views on sugared almonds?”

“What are you on about, you vapid little twit? The only good thing about almonds is that they remind me of cyanide.” 

That’s my Sev, I inwardly cheer. “Let’s get dressed. It’s a long story.”

 

*

The big day has arrived and there isn’t a chimney sweep in sight. The first hint of confetti will burn to ash and anyone caught carrying a horseshoe will feel the wrath of my wand. 

I am standing opposite my husband-to-be. He looks magnificent in robes of deepest blue, matching the ones I am wearing. We abandoned the idea of house colours when Sev, with his strange sense of humour, suggested the colour and promised that he had no intention of living in Crewe.

Our close friends and family are gathered around us and I smirk as I spot Fred and George. They make a lovely pair of pageboys, complete with the pageboy haircut and velvet breeches that appeared as they entered the small room we are to be married in. Little do they know that they will stay like that for the next three weeks. A word to the wise: never cross Severus Snape, he can be a vindictive bastard when he wants to be.

Arthur Weasley is conducting the service; as Minister of Magic he has the power to do so. With a wave of his wand he conjures three red ribbons. “Witches and wizards, we are gathered here to join Harry and Severus in marriage. To give each to the other for this life and the next.

“Gentlemen, please roll up your left sleeves and align.”

Quickly, I do as Arthur instructs, exposing my forearm. I watch Sev as he does the same. The Dark Mark is still there; we cannot erase the past but we can forgive it and welcome the future.

We hold up our arms and I press mine to Sev’s. Arthur steps forward and ties one of the ribbons around our elbows. “I bind your bones, a physical embodiment of the strength of this union.”

Sev smiles at me, a true smile, not one of his half smirks and my breath catches like a silly schoolgirl in the first flush of love. Bloody hell, Sev, what are you doing to me?

Arthur ties the second ribbon around our wrists, aligning the pulse-points. “I bind your hearts, an expression of love eternal.”

Finally he wraps the last ribbon around our fingers. “I bind your souls and bind you for eternity. With the power vested in me I proclaim you husband and husband.”

I lean forward and Sev meets me halfway. I melt into the kiss that promises me love and devotion.

 

The reception was an intimate dinner with our close friends and family in a charming restaurant in Wizarding Cambridge that can only be accessed by tapping your wand on Newton’s Arch. 

No matter how wonderful the food was, it cannot compare to the feast that is Severus Snape as he stands before me in our bedroom. 

Loosening the fastenings of the silk wedding robe, I slide my hand across Sev’s chest, beginning to trace circles across his warm skin. He is everything I want, everything I need. There is nothing anyone can say, no hurtful whispers that would make me walk away from this man. Our lips move against each other, at first slow and exploratory, as if this was our first kiss, cherishing the softness of the other. But my need to take my husband burns deep inside me and I can’t remove his clothes fast enough. He is pulling at mine and soon we are naked. I walk him backwards, refusing to break the kiss. I never want to break this kiss. I pour my love and desire into it, trying to say everything with my body that I rarely say with words.

We fall onto the bed and I map his body with my hands. I’m claiming my husband, making him mine. Reluctantly, I pull away and retrieve the lube from the nightstand. I position myself between his thighs. I open the vial and pour some of its oily contents onto my fingers. Sev looks up at me and smirks. “Always one to dawdle, aren’t you, Harry?”

I roll my eyes. Even now, as I’m about to fuck him, he’s has to make a surly comment. “Patience is a virtue,” I tease.

He bucks his hips, telling me to get on with it. His wish is my command. He gasps as I work my fingers into his tight hole, a noise that goes straight to my groin. Sev pushes himself down on to my fingers, writhing with delight. 

I can tell he’s ready and I’m desperate to be inside him - my husband. With a cry that is almost guttural I push into him and I’m engulfed in a tight heat that electrifies my body. Grabbing his hips, I begin to thrust, totally absorbed by the look of wanton pleasure on Sev’s face.

We pant and groan, sweat mingling and pleasure building. Sev is coming, firing shots of sticky, white fluid over his furry belly. I lose any control I have left at the erotic sight. Spurred on by Sev’s animalistic cries I empty myself into him. Still panting, I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on my husband’s flushed face. “God, I love you.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” mutters Sev, as I slide out of him and lie beside him on the bed.

I lay my head on his chest. “I propose a new tradition, one that would be terribly bad luck if we don’t adhere strictly to it.”

He chuckles. “And that would be?”

“Fantastic, mind-blowing sex - as often as possible,” I declare, grinning.

“Now that is something to be superstitious about.”

 

FIN


End file.
